


Introductions - Alternate

by avulle



Series: 221B Baker Street [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Azula is Sherlock Holmes, Crack, Fung is Mrs. Hudson, Gen, Katara is Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6292675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avulle/pseuds/avulle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another way Katara Wu and Azula Iwamoto could have met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Introductions - Alternate

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were wondering: Fung is one of the members of the White Lotus who showed up, like, once. He's the one Iroh and Zuko met in Si Wong Desert, and who arranged their travel to Ba Sing Se.

I first became acquainted with Azula Iwamoto from a friend of a friend, or, perhaps, from an acquaintance of an acquaintance. An old man by the name of Fung Zhang, who was introduced to me by way of an old companion from the service when he heard I was looking for a place to stay.

I was told that the current tenant of 221B Baker Street was looking for a new housemate, having lost the previous to extenuating circumstances. I was then told, with slippery, weaselly words, about the great many virtues of one Azula Iwamoto, along with a hesitant plea to perhaps prepare myself for the worst.

I decided to visit 221B nonetheless, despite my misgivings, as my savings were rapidly running dry, and I did not much fancy returning to countryside to spend my early retirement.

It was Fung who opened the door, both older and smaller than I had pictured, but with a far firmer grip.

"She's just upstairs," he told me after releasing my hand. "Let me know if you need anything."

He then returned to his kitchen, and set a pot on the stove.

A polite welcome though it was, it was very notable for all that it was not.

I took a moment to observe the room around me. It was a nice enough building—well kept, if nothing else. The white walls were fairly oppressive, but nothing compared to the harsh whiteness of the hospital at which I had taken a position. There were no obvious structural instabilities, nor any obvious rodent or insect infestations, which made the price being offered nothing short of a steal.

I was startled out of my reverie by the harsh whistling of Fung's teapot, and found myself staring at a rather uninteresting, but spotless corner, with brown carpet and elegant molding. I turned my face up to the rather imposing door standing closed at the top of the steps.

There was nothing to it, of course. I climbed the stairs, my feet making no noise against the soft carpet, and knocked politely.

I had been shot not once but twice in Afghanistan, so I doubted very much that what lay beyond this door was as horrible as my mind was trying to convince me that it most assuredly was.

"Come in," came the voice from beyond the door.

It was a nice voice, although not particularly ordinary. Low for a woman's, but with a pleasant enough tone and a smoothness to it that made it quite easy on the ears.

I opened the door, and down the hallway was a woman who could only be Azula Iwamoto, folded into a red upholstered chair, and facing directly towards me.

She was wrapped in a dressing gown, colored in deep red and blacks, decadent like old-world finery. A large mass of straight black hair tumbled over her shoulders in an artful mess that could only be more complete with a topknot. Her skin was a deathly pale, illuminated by a blue light source beyond my vision, and her eyes glinted a brilliant gold.

"Miss Iwamoto?" I asked in confirmation.

Her face darkened, and her face twisted in a grimace.

"Call me Azula, _please_."

I emerged from the hallway and entered into a room only slightly more subtle than her dressing gown.

The walls were adorned heavily with tapestries, all in dark reds, browns and blacks. Spread across the floor was a deep maroon rug, intricately woven with black and brown strands into a large, abstract pattern that still effortlessly called flames to mind. It was completed by a blue fire, burning bright in the hearth.

I turned back to Azula, extending my hand in greeting.

"Of course, my apologies." Her face didn't clear, but she took my hand all the same.

Her grip, just like Fung's beneath us, was firm, and her hands were altogether more calloused than her appearance implied.

"Please, call me Katara."

She smiled faintly, her golden eyes flickering briefly to my hair, and then to just under my chin, to the stone resting in the hollow of my throat.

"Yes," she finally agreed, eyes raising to meet mine once again. "Fung told me."

She flourished an impeccably manicured hand towards the chair opposite her.

"Please, do take a seat."

I did so, and she continued.

"Let's not be coy," she said. "You are here because my last housemate left because they found me so incredibly unpleasant they decided I simply wasn't worth the free rent afforded by my presence, and, because people with altogether more influence over my life than I'd prefer insist I have a housemate for reasons I cannot comprehend, and you are interested in the free rent that will come at their expense. So. Do you want to stay here or not?"

I was momentarily struck dumb, having fully expected a coy little dance where she pretended that she was not the descendant of old nobility, spoiled but not quite spoiled enough, while I pretended that my skin was not brown and the gem at my throat was not blue.

I was fully willing to perform that little dance, just for the sake of free rent, as she so adequately described it, but upon being presented with it so bluntly, I began to have my doubts.

"To each their own,” I said. “Perhaps we should get to know one another a bit, first?"

Her face twisted briefly into a sneer, before smoothing out into neutrality once again.

"I am a compulsive liar, and horribly manipulative. I always get what I want, no matter the cost to those around me. I get up and about at all hours of the night, and my work brings many a number of unsavory characters to my lodgings rather independent of any schedule of my own. Not to mention my generally unpleasant personality, which tends to attract an altogether different kind of attention.”

She leveled a look at me that tried very hard to be neutral but was instead faintly smug.

It was so smug and self-satisfied, in fact, that I took a deep breath, gave her my most professional smile, and responded, “That’s nothing we can’t work around.”

There was a long moment of silence before Azula's lips parted over her teeth and she grinned at me.

"Excellent!"

She took to her feet, clapped her hands together.

"In that case, let's go tell Fung the good news."

She reached out and flipped the nearest light switch, throwing the rooms dark reds into brighter oranges, and illuminating the soft beige color of the wall. Her dressing gown parted, and through it, I caught a glimpse of a rather worn white tank top, and pair of pale blue sweatpants.

She paused at the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder at me.

“Aren’t you coming?”

I caught a flash of white teeth before she vanished beyond my vision.

**Author's Note:**

> A fair bit of both Azula and Katara's dialogue in this are inspired from or outright borrowed from the first chapter of _A Study In Scarlet_ , by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.


End file.
